


DIY How to build your own Garden of Eden

by ximeria



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Courting Rituals, Courtship, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Footnotes, Humor, M/M, Nesting, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), building a life together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24585901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ximeria/pseuds/ximeria
Summary: Post-not-end-of-days Crowley feels a change is needed, but he can't do it alone. Not to mention, he's not entirely sure what it is, this nebulousthingthat he wants. He just knows it involves Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 165
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	1. Home is where the heart is - AKA Hey Angel, the world didn't end, fancy getting a place together?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [123hop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/123hop/gifts).



> Written for 123hop who bid on my writing for the Fandom Trumps Hate charity event. I hope this lives up to your likes, the two idiots were not making it any easier as you requested to not wait too long to get them to realise where they were headed. They fought me every step of the way, as per usual.
> 
> Disclaimer: This story does not contain the DIY recipe for a Garden of Eden for your island, sorry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley attempts to figure out what it is he wants from the now possible future and a small misunderstanding is dealt with.

"Angel!" Crowley blew through the doors of the bookshops as he had countless times before.

He stopped a few steps inside. There was no answer. Normally it would be "In the back, dear," to draw him there or up the stairs to the shelves up there where Aziraphale sometimes got himself a little lost in the process of looking for this or that rare edition, that he swore up and down he knew exactly where it was.

Crowley gave it another moment, but there was no answer for him. A small flare of worry wound its way up along his spine. (1.)

1 - One might even say slithering up it, if one wasn't Crowley and above using snake metaphors. Slithering was for the literal moments, not the metaphorical ones.

  


"Aziraphale?" Crowley raised his voice a little more, fighting the feeling that was most certainly not currently slithering from his spine to his gut. "A-"

A noise from the narrow staircase in the back of the shop drew his attention - the one he figured led to the upstairs flat in which he hadn't been since the angel had moved into it. He remembered the bare rooms when Aziraphale had showed him the building back in 1800, but he'd never been up there since. He did sometimes wonder if the space upstairs wasn't as cluttered as the ground floor. He imagined mountains of books, scrolls and whatever else the angel saw fit to hoard.

A shiver ran down his spine. Clutter tended to remind him of Hell a little too much and these days (and for a lot of centuries, really) he would really rather not be reminded of that place at all.

Thankfully, the familiarity of the bookshop went a long way in making up for the clutter. But was it enough? It may go a long way in explaining why he was about to ask Aziraphale a damned big question.

Crowley made a face as he stalked back towards the stairs. He'd been in Mayfair for a lot of years and Aziraphale's place was just as old. They had never set down roots for that long before, and, quite frankly, Crowley was itching to drag both root systems up and out of the ground for a good, firm replanting. 

"Our side," he muttered to himself as he poked his head inside the narrow space of the staircase. 'Our place' was left unspoken.

"Is that you, Crowley?" Aziraphale's voice drifted down and Crowley let out a breath he hadn't thought he'd been holding (2)

2 - He hadn't been holding his breath, but the situation called for an exhalation of breath previously held back, so this was exactly what he did, expelling his building worries through an exhalation.

  


"It's me, angel, who else can get through your wards?" No one, he hoped fervently.

It had been half a year since the world hadn't ended and while neither of them had heard from their respective former head-offices, neither of them seemed to fully relax the looking-over-their shoulders and second guessing any of their own interactions.

If they were seen… Crowley bit back a growl.

It shouldn't be necessary, but they both did it when they were out in public. One minute they would be walking down the street, arms brushing, or sitting in a restaurant, legs pressed together under the table and the next one of them would falter and take a step away or shift to end the contact.

It irked Crowley, it truly did. He couldn't even fault Aziraphale for it, when he did it himself.

But Crowley wanted more - a nebulous entity that he couldn't specify or quantify - yet he wanted it like a dying man in the desert wanted water.

"Just a moment, I'll be right with you."

Crowley wasn't entirely sure what made him walk up the stairs, his long legs taking two steps at a time. Had there been something different about Aziraphale's voice? Something strange? Maybe a little breathless?

He was nearly punted down the bloody stairs when Aziraphale ran into him at the top step. The only thing keeping him from taking a tumble backwards was Aziraphale's quick reaction. 

"Meep," was all that escaped the esteemed and cool demon, Anthony J. Crowley. But he felt he could and _should_ be excused. He was hanging above the steps in a narrow staircase with Aziraphale's strong grip keeping him in place.

Without thinking about it, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's forearms and good Lo- Sa- _fuck_! He could feel the corded muscles moving under the fleshy bits and, for a split second, all those dark nighttime fantasies came for him, slamming him metaphorically up against the nearest wall and making him beg for more.

"My goodness, Crowley, do be careful," Aziraphale said, keeping that damned strong hold on Crowley's shoulders until he was sure that he wouldn't fall, and then he carefully let go.

Crowley stared at his own hands, his own fingers like claws digging into Aziraphale's shirtsleeves. He let go like he'd burned his hands when he realised that he no longer had an excuse to be hanging on.

And Satan have it, his palms were itching afterwards, but no matter how much he wanted to convince himself that it must be the angel's grace doing it, he knew perfectly well he'd only be lying to himself. They were itching to grab a hold again, to feel the muscles moving under the thin cloth of shirtsleeves.

"Are you alright, Crowley?" Aziraphale's voice broke through whatever fog was clouding Crowley's mind at that moment.

"Wha? Sure, yeah - I'm good, angel, sorry." Crowley blabbered like it was an olympic discipline, he knew this, but he had no control, it seemed, over his own voice and words spilling from his mouth.

Apart from snapping his jaws closed to keep from saying something _really_ stupid or _really_ revealing.

"Well, I did tell you I would be right down," Aziraphale huffed, frowning at him.

"Mustn't have heard you, angel," Crowley lied and wasn't that a kick in the teeth? He'd half expected that after they had cut ties with their respective sides he wouldn't be doing this anymore, but it was a knee jerk reaction and hard to go back on without getting into a very awkward conversation.

"Oh well, let's go downstairs and pop open one of the good bottles," Aziraphale said, the strange look on his face vanishing like water droplets in the sunshine. Instead he was treated to the usual congenial smile.

Crowley let Aziraphale lead him back downstairs, wondering what the angel was hiding upstairs, ignoring the inner voice screaming about a sex dungeon versus a nice bed to have sex on and figuring that all that was up there was probably just more books.

"What's the occasion?" Crowley asked, trying to find something to focus on that wasn't the urge to think about Aziraphale's hands on his shoulders, the hold they'd had on him a moment ago.

"Oh, nothing special, my dear, I just dusted off the bottles the other day and realised that I had quite a hankering for one or two of them. And thought it would be nice to share with you the next time you came over."

Crowley nodded. It was fairly normal for them to save a bottle or ten of the really good vintages and then forget about them - they never went off, obviously. And more by chance than foresight, Aziraphale and he had a wine collection that would make a connoisseur weep.

As he sank into the old, comfy couch in the corner, waiting for Aziraphale to return with the wine, he remembered why he'd rushed over here in the first place. Not that he normally needed an excuse to go see Aziraphale, but today had been a little extra.

In his inner pocket of his jacket, a piece of paper felt like it was trying to burn its way through the layers. Two days after they had cheated Heaven and Hell out of their executions, Crowley had been surfing online and had found the perfect thing to splurge on. He'd been drunk on being alive, on being on Earth - on Earth and humans being alive still. And, above all else, secure in the knowledge that Aziraphale was still there as well. Still alive.

So, right, he had something to share with Aziraphale and for Hell's sake, he hoped he had enough spine to make it all the way through his suggestion.

Aziraphale handed him one of the glasses he brought in from the back, setting his own aside to uncork the bottle of wine.

Crowley nearly jumped out of his seat when the cork popped.

"If you don't mind me mentioning it, you seem a little nervous today," Aziraphale said, studiously not meeting Crowley's eyes. When he did, there was a certain glint to them, the usual soft humour. "Well, more nervous than normally."

Crowley groaned. He was getting better at not constantly jumping at shadows, but today he'd added a little extra to it. Why he kept doing this to himself, he'd never be able to explain to anyone, least of all himself.

"Please, you know you can come to me with anything you need, right?" Aziraphale said softly, pouring wine for Crowley. "Any worries you might have?"

"It's not worries, angel, you know that, and I can't just switch it off - but that's not why I came over today, to discuss my nervous tendencies," Crowley said, steeling himself, straightening as much as he was capable of in the first place. His spine just didn't work that way.

Aziraphale sat in his chair, raising his glass. "I'll drink to that, my dear."

"Maybe wait until you hear what I have to say and then we can consider whether or not it's cause for celebrations or if you think I might've gone around the bend," Crowley said with a laugh, not quite managing to sound as suave as he was aiming for. (3)

3 - He rarely managed it - if ever. The only one who occasionally saw Crowley as suave and cool was Aziraphale and the angel would never tell him this out loud. Some things were best left unsaid

  


"I believe I am best left as the judge of that, Crowley," Aziraphale said with a soft laugh. "You shouldn't second guess yourself like that, my dear - sometimes it is best to do as the humans say: 'live a little, take a chance.'"

"Easy for you to say," Crowley muttered. "Okay, angel, hear me out, don't interrupt me, okay?"

Aziraphale gestured for him to go on, taking a sip of his wine.

"Ngh," Crowley made a face and cleared his throat. "Angel--" he trailed off. "I'm not sure if I should be trying to ease my way into this conversation or give you the long story."

Aziraphale frowned at him. "I guess, whichever makes you more comfortable?"

"Bandaids."

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said slowly, "bandaids?"

"Okay, angel, wipe the slate clean, let's try it again - I'm just a bit nervous," Crowley admitted with a sigh.

"I don't know why you'd be nervous-" Aziraphale began, but he fell quiet when Crowley held up his hand. If he let Aziraphale carry on, he'd never get through this.

"Just after the whole thing in Tadfield, I contacted a realtor/solicitor and, well," he reached inside his jacket to pull the piece of paper out from it. He handed it to Aziraphale and fell back on the couch, head tipped back and eyes closed.

There was no sound from Aziraphale. No sound at all. No questions, no happiness, not even a smidgeon of joy. Crowley blinked in confusion before he sat back up and looked at his friend. His heart sank to the heels of his boots when he caught sight of the look on Aziraphale's face.

The angel had paled more than usually, his eyes large as he stared down at the piece of paper in his hand. He looked like Crowley had felt that day in the pub when he'd thought Aziraphale had been killed for good, burned to a cinder in the bookshop.

As Crowley watched, Aziraphale visibly folded away any sign of emotion on his face until it was a blank canvas. Might as well have been chiseled in stone, shaped in marble.

"Say something, Aziraphale, you're making me really uncomfortable here," Crowley said, his voice low and not nearly as steady as he'd aimed for. What the heck was going on? Why wasn't Aziraphale saying anything?

"I-," Aziraphale blinked rapidly, the marble cracking for a moment. " _I_ am making _you_ uncomfortable?" Aziraphale asked, voice low, but full of hurt. "What do you call this?" He held up the paper.

"The deed to a cottage," Crowley replied slowly. He'd have thought that was pretty obvious.

"Yes," Aziraphale said, acidly. "I can see that - what I fail to see is why you are choosing to tell me this way that you are leaving London."

Crowley blinked rapidly a couple of times. "I- eh, nnngh." He shut his mouth with an audible clack. Surely the angel couldn't be this thick? "You think I'm leaving yo- London?"

"What else am I to think?" Aziraphale said, voice rising, just as he was making to stand.

Crowley realised that the stubborn idiot had taken it wrong and that if he let him, Aziraphale would walk out on him, not giving him a chance to explain.

Shooting forward from his seat on the couch, Crowley ended up on one knee in front of Aziraphale, all but forcing the angel to sit back down again. He grabbed Aziraphale's hands and held on tightly. "Oh for Go-Sa- _fuck's_ sake, angel, do you think I'd be moving into a cottage in the countryside without you?!"

Aziraphale was busy staring at their joined hands, as if he'd never seen anything like that before (4).

4 - The number of times they had touched were infinitely small considering how long they had known each other, so perhaps Aziraphale could be excused - they'd always been ever so careful about not touching because that would lead to letting down their guards and eventually they would be found out.

  


"I thought maybe we could do with a change of scenery," Crowley said, voice low and creaky, like an old door in need of some TLC - or perhaps some WD40. (5)

5 - For the uninitiated, WD40 is a household lubricant for squeaky hinges, sticking windows or doors etc.

  


"To-together," Aziraphale said. Not quite a question, but not quite the statement it should have been if anyone asked Crowley.

"Well, I am not living out there on my own, angel, I'd go crazy within a week and be causing all sorts of trouble when I got bored." Crowley did _not_ hold his breath. It just so happened he didn't need to breathe.

"Well, can't have that, now can we?" Aziraphale asked softly. "Though, no, don't make excuses for me, Crowley, please. I jumped to conclusions when I shouldn't have. You shouldn't have to 'tempt' me into this to give me an excuse to thwart you." He fell silent for a moment, still staring down at their joined hands. "I've had a lot on my mind lately," he finally admitted. "I fear I may have been projecting my worries onto you and your doings, rather than facing them." Taking a deep breath he looked back at Crowley. "I think we should be well past the point of looking for our age old excuses to do something together - we are, as you said, on our own side."

Crowley swallowed hard. This was a lot more intimate than he'd bargained for. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but no words came to him. It didn't help that he was still kneeling in front of Aziraphale.

"I think perhaps we need to learn how to communicate more openly," Aziraphale said, eyes boring past the sunglasses and straight into Crowley's immortal soul. Blinking rapidly, Aziraphale smiled apologetically. "Baby steps, of course - but perhaps it is my turn as you came to me with your good tidings."

"Tidings?" Crowley stared at him. Half of Aziraphale's words were drowning in the thud-thud of his heart. Then he realised what Aziraphale was talking about. The deed. "The cottage."

"Yes," Aziraphale smiled that little teasing bastard smile of his and Crowley rolled his eyes. "But that makes it my turn to be honest."

"A new arrangement?" Crowley asked, trying desperately to deflect whatever Aziraphale was gearing up to say. He probably wouldn't survive it, his heart would burst out of his chest and run right back to Mayfair to hide.

"With us that sort of makes sense, I guess," Aziraphale agreed. "And in that thread, I want to tell you that I would love to endeavour on this journey with you - to live side by side with you."

Crowley was both disappointed and infinitely happy that Aziraphale hadn't said 'I love you' in the middle of all this. Not that he would, not yet, but Crowley hoped to Heaven that he could woo the angelic bastard to get to that at some point before another six thousand years trickled by. He wouldn't have been able to handle it, that was for sure, but it seemed his purchase had been accepted with more or less open arms, baring a few stumbling blocks.

"So you wanna go on a drive and see the cottage?" Crowley hedged, hoping for the best.

The smile this earned him nearly bowled him over. "Of course, my dear." He opened his mouth to continue then closed it again and his smile was more soft than teasing. "And do stand up, dear boy, the floor really isn't overly comfortable."


	2. Home Inspection - AKA Uprooting Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel and a demon head out to have a look at Crowley's spur of the moment purchase.

Aziraphale clasped his hands together in his lap as Crowley drove, more sedate than usual, down various country roads. They were both quiet and Aziraphale was glad that it was no longer the tense atmosphere of the bookshop when Crowley had first come over, early in the day.

What a fool he'd been.

No, fool was too nice. Idiot, pure and simple; an idiot. He'd hurt Crowley, no doubt about that. With his idiotic jumping to conclusions - it had hurt himself to watch, to realise. But it had also given him hope. Hope that Crowley had not entertained the idea of leaving him behind.

And it had been a stupid thought, to put such an agenda on Crowley. Aziraphale knew how hard the demon had fought to make him see their side as _their_ side. They had both agreed that eventually both Heaven and Hell would try to start another war - ineffable plan or not. Crowley and he had no one but each other, so expecting Crowley to make a run for it _without_ him was simply stupid.

Aziraphale watched the scenery fly by. Hedgerows, fields, a few people, a few houses, small villages. Quaint stone bridges over narrow rivers. Perhaps he'd been so quick to think Crowley was about to leave him because he'd been reminiscing over some of the knick-knacks he had upstairs in the flat. All things that Crowley had given him, and all prominently displayed. He'd been worried that Crowley might stumble upon what he kept safely tucked away from prying eyes - one look and Aziraphale would have been unable to come up with an explanation as to why his upstairs flat was like a shrine to each and every little gift the demon had given him.

He was a fool if he did not admit to himself that he was projecting. For all Crowley's blustering and yelling about going off to Alpha Centauri, he hadn't and he'd asked, no, pleaded with Aziraphale to join him.

Elope.

Aziraphale swallowed the half hysterical giggle that was attempting to escape from his throat. Like they were some old fashioned romance story in a human book. Eloping because neither of their sides, their families, would ever accept them together.

A silent promise to himself and Aziraphale allowed himself a small smile. If they were indeed going to be living together, he had to come up with some kind of plan. He had no clue how demons went about courtship, or if they even did so. But demons had once been angels too, so perhaps it could work out in the end.

If he played his cards right. A house, a cottage, in which they could try to live together. A home where he was already, in his mind's eye, decking out the rooms that Crowley had provided with all the trinkets from the demon that he'd held onto over the years.

He wanted dearly to ask if Crowley was going to keep his flat in Mayfair, just as a backup in case it didn't work out, this new 'arrangement' of theirs. Because that was what it would be, wasn't it? A new arrangement now that the old one had grown obsolete.

Aziraphale quietly promised himself that he would not fight this one in the way that he had with their old one. He'd always been the one needing to be cajoled into things. Tempted into it.

Turning his head a little, he caught sight of Crowley's profile. The demon was quiet in his own contemplation it seemed. The usual nervousness was still there, but it seemed to have taken a backseat. Aziraphale had seen it before in his friend. He'd get behind the wheel of his Bentley and seemingly relax. In many ways, Aziraphale mused to himself, Crowley found some comfort in his car, in driving it, the way that Aziraphale found solace in his books, in the worlds they painted, the controlled and confined stories.

"I'm glad you're willing to maybe give this a chance," Crowley said, finally breaking the silence as they pulled down a small road.

Aziraphale could smell salt in the air and he could feel the change in pressure as the Bentley wound its way along the road, following it downward, the sense of the great deep ocean somewhere near.

"Of course, Crowley. How could I not?" A chance. It was more than a chance. It was a new start, the door to a new, well maybe not life, but a new chapter of their life, perhaps a new book - a sequel unplanned for.

Had they not all expected the world to end with Amargeddon?

"For starters, angel," Crowley replied as he turned down an unpaved country road. "For starters, you are very fond of your bookshop - you are very fond of Soho, London and all its restaurants and entertainment places."

Aziraphale chuckled, he knew what Crowley meant and why he would have gotten this impresion. "Yes, but London is not that far away should we want a little entertainment or a night out, and quite frankly, my dear, you know the bookshop is more to house my books than to run a business."

"Yeah, I am intimately familiar with your 'business hours' and your practices, angel." Crowley laughed out loud. "But you might miss it if we move here."

"I'm not going to live a bookless life here," Aziraphale corrected him. "And quite frankly, running interference with the customers so they buy nothing has grown less fun over the years. It's just not the same as it used to be."

"So you'll keep being the book collector and not sell anything. Nothing's changing there, then," Crowley said with a snort.

"What about you? Might you not miss your fancy Mayfair lodging?" Aziraphale asked. He found it hard to imagine Crowley in some countryside cottage, low beamed ceiling and skewed doorways. He had seen Crowley's flat in London, and it had been hyper modern, sleek and everything a cottage would not be.

"I've grown a bit tired of it," Crowley admitted and for once he did not sound aloof, but rather completely honest about it. "I mean, obviously I can have the plants in the cottage, but the place itself is perhaps a little stale for me at the moment. Reminds me a little too much of before the end of days - working for Hell and all."

And Aziraphale understood that. Understood it because he'd largely felt the same in the bookshop since they had come back from Tadfield. Yes, Adam had done a magnificent job of recreating the bookshop but he would be lying to himself if he didn't feel a similar itch to step away from it and the memories of his time working for Heaven.

No way was he getting rid of the books or for that matter the bookshop, but he could keep it closed for a while, had put a sign in the window about it being temporarily closed. Time was, after all, a different creature for an immortal. No one had to dictate what 'temporarily' meant in this case.

"It will, perhaps, do us both good to be out of London for a while, dear." Aziraphale looked down at his folded hands in his lap. "I am looking forward to a cottage filled with your plants."

"As long as you don't speak too much to them," Crowley said without any heat. "You'll give them ideas, make them soft."

"Of course, darling," Aziraphale said, trying to keep a straight face. He wasn't entirely sure what Crowley did to his plants to make them grow so gorgeously, but he figured he would find out now that they would be living under the same roof.

Same roof, same house. Aziraphale took a deep breath. The implications were slowly beginning to seep in through the cracks. They had had their clandestine meetings through the years, always so much secrecy (6). And the secrecy had been weighing on Aziraphale's mind and shoulders for centuries. The last few decades had been the worst on that account. The few times when they had parted ways in anger had been unbearable, a product of their allegiances to Heaven and Hell.

6 - Except when they had met in St James' park, the Ritz, the Savoy… well, perhaps they had slacked off every now and again. The whole St James' park had been a bit funny - it had become a favoured meeting place for foreign and local diplomats over the years, possibly to some extent because they had seen an angel and a demon do the same over the years and had thus subconsciously copied this habit.

  


Today was such a remarkable day. To go see a place that would not be Crowley's or his to live in, but theirs. Their place, their house, their _home_.

The thought made Aziraphale's stomach do strange things. They would see each other at night, in the morning, during the day. What a magnificent, but slightly frightening, thought.

The car had stopped and Aziraphale suddenly realised that Crowley was silently watching him.

"Oh, sorry to be-" he began, then looked past Crowley and drew in a soft breath. "Oh goodness, is that it?"

"Yup." Crowley's eyes were unfortunately obscured by his ever present sunglasses.

Aziraphale tore his eyes from the eternal conundrum of Crowley and swung his attention to a less dangerous object of desire. The house was lovely. There was no other way to describe it. A little bigger than he'd imagined, but Aziraphale also knew that it would be different on the inside. Maybe not yet, but it would accommodate them as they went along, as they would find need for more room.

But the outside was lovely. There was a sagging stone wall around the place and Aziraphale was itching to start at one end and follow it all the way around. The house was on a small hilltop, and if he was not mistaking, there was a rabbits' burrow a little further down the hill. He could see the little critters scurrying to hide from them.

The garden at the side of the house was flat enough, but he could see the grassy area on the other side, stretching downhill. He imagined for a moment, being laid out on a blanket, in the warm sunshine… 

The house begged for his attention again. Stone exterior, the roof thatched - fairly new work as well. Windows big enough that they would let in enough light, but small enough to ensure that the interior wouldn't be lit in painfully bright light or be too cold when wind and winter hit.

Cosy. The word he wanted to use was 'cosy'.

He wondered if Crowley would forgive him for using it. He always balked at words like nice, soft, sweet, and cosy was not that different. Not that it would keep Aziraphale from calling it just that. It was, after all, the truth. He'd just have to be careful voicing it.

Aziraphale was so caught up in staring at the house that he didn't notice Crowley getting out of the car and circling it to open the passenger door.

"Ready to have a closer look, angel?" Crowley's voice was so tentative that Aziraphale had to tear his eyes away from the cottage and stare at the demon. "I mean, I haven't seen it yet either - apart from some photos, but I figure we can always tweak until it's to our liking." Crowley rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little hesitant.

"It'll be lovely, I'm sure," Aziraphale assured him, and because he believed it, of course it would be. Though this did not keep Crowley from being nervous, it seemed. Crowley had made the first step, had gotten them a place that was for _them_ ; it was up to Aziraphale to take the next.

The angel got out of the car and resolutely grabbed Crowley's hand. The heat radiating between their palms was amazing. 

He didn't miss the small, quick tilt of the head as Crowley looked down at their hands when Aziraphale didn't let go of it. However, he wouldn't comment on it, of course. If he did, Crowley might let go!

The cottage entrance was a quaint little door in the front but Crowley led him to the back of the house where another door, this one painted white, was situated. Aziraphale wondered why they hadn't gone through the front one.

As if Crowley had heard his thoughts, he pulled out a keybundle. "The front door needs a new lock. The old one hasn't been used in years according to the realtor. It's rusted shut. Apparently the former owner preferred using the backdoor."

When they entered, Aziraphale fully understood why. "Oh my, how lovely," he all but breathed when Crowley led him through the door.

Unfortunately, Crowley let go of his hand, but a moment later Aziraphale was far too busy staring. They had come in through a back room that had obviously served the previous owner as a washroom as there was an old washing machine facing them. They wouldn’t need one, so Aziraphale was already considering the space for other purposes. It was larger than he'd expected, with a big window that allowed a lot of natural light to come through.

Crowley slipped past him and walked over to the old washer, eyeing it with distaste, whether it was the ancient machine itself or the layer of dust on it was a question Aziraphale wasn't going to ask him.

It wasn't a place for books. No, but he could easily imagine things that would be necessary to work in the garden. Plenty of space and light from a surprisingly large window, that would maybe work well for growing plants before putting them outside. He'd have to ask Crowley. Aziraphale himself may have worked as a gardener in the Dowling household, but most of his 'gardening' had been done with miracles or the whole place would have looked horrible and Crowley would never have let him live it down. He could admit that he had little to no knowledge of plants. He liked them well enough, for looking at, for eating, but he had basically no knowledge about growing them.

Thinking back to the green plant room at the Mayfair flat, Aziraphale silently wondered what magnificent things Crowley could grow in a setting like this one.

Lost in thought for a moment, his attention was hijacked by a low whistle from Crowley coming from the next room, which turned out to be the kitchen. Not old at all. Quite new, but kept in a very quaint style. The work tops were dark marble and the floors stone, the cabinets were creamy white and this was, like the previous room, bigger than he'd expected.

"Seems a bit on the large side for us, seeing as we don't really need it," Crowley muttered from where he was standing, his voice muffled by the fact that he had his head halfway inside one of the cupboards.

"Plenty of room for wine, then" Aziraphale said airily. He was no stranger to cooking or baking, but he rarely made the effort in his flat's rather small kitchen. This kitchen, however, felt like it needed the cooking and baking to take place, like it would be even more perfect if permeated by the smell of freshly baked bread.

Crowley muttered his agreement and Aziraphale was vaguely aware that Crowley had left the cupboard behind and was circling the room and in fact, circling Aziraphale, but he was rather caught up in mentally filling out the space. There was room for a good assortment of pots and pans. The window sill would be marvelous for potted herbs. There was even a table and four chairs off to one side where they could sit in the morning, enjoying their coffee and tea.

There was more than enough room to work with in here, and Aziraphale's senses remembered long ago dishes that he had shared with Crowley. Many of which Crowley had brought to his attention. What would it be like to attempt to recreate any of those dishes in this kitchen. Their kitchen.

He turned to find Crowley with a speculative look on his face.

"You don't like it?" he asked the demon. He very much hoped that Crowley would say that he did, but it was hard to tell. (7)

7 - Aziraphale had seen Crowley's kitchen, all black and chrome and untouched save for making coffee and storing wine. That was the kind of kitchen one would find in a showroom of an expensive kitchen supplier, whereas this kitchen was made to be used and filled with the love of food.

  


"No, I kinda do?" Crowley said with a frown. "I didn't expect to, honestly, I expected something a lot older than this." He scrunched up his nose then shrugged. "It's really not bad at all. Not like either of us really cook, right?"

"Ah," Aziraphale said, realising that his reply only served to attract Crowley's attention faster. He might as well cut that off at the knees. "I do, in fact, enjoy cooking and experimenting, it just rarely feels worth it when it's only me and I know you haven't seen the flat's kitchen, but it is rather on the… shall we say, cramped side." It was, also, quite frankly filled with more books than cooking accessories.

"You could have miracled it bigger," Crowley said, nothing but curiosity in his question. No teasing.

"It gets boring after a while anyway; eating my cooking alone. Hardly felt like it was worth the effort," Aziraphale admitted, knowing that he was showing a lot more than he'd initially intended to.

Like the loneliness that kept scratching at the door inside his chest. He wasn't made for solitude, yet he'd had it for too many years to count.

"I may not eat much, but if you want to experiment…" Crowley's voice was low and soft and Aziraphale felt heat suffuse his cheeks. Yes, he would very much like to do so - he wanted to try _everything_ and have Crowley sample them.

It felt as if they spent a small eternity just looking at each other in the kitchen, and Aziraphale, while curious about the rest of the cottage, really didn't feel like breaking the moment. It felt far too poignant to do so. They could see the rest of the house later. Right now they were having a 'moment'. And while Aziraphale would normally be the one to break it because he feared where it might lead, the questions it might ask of him, he refused to do so this time.

Eventually it was Crowley who broke the moment, clearing his throat and what could only be described as the most fetching shade of a blush colouring his cheeks.

"Let's see what it is I've gotten us into, shall we, angel?" he finally said, looking everywhere but at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale took one more look around the kitchen and smiled as he followed Crowley to the living room.

"Not bad," Crowley said, much to Aziraphale's surprise without sounding particularly sarcastic.

Crowley stalked through the room, turning at the main window facing out towards green fields and somewhere below, the rabbit warren. The light coming through the wide windows made the room feel warm and almost alive, begging to be filled with their things and their presence. It should have been a contrast to the sharpness of the demon, but it wasn't. It oddly enough seemed to soften him as well. Made him look more approachable.

There was no furniture in the room, but it had possibilities. The ceiling was low, the beams exposed and painted dark brown and at one end shelves had been built into a nook in the wall.

"Not exactly your normal living aesthetics, though," Aziraphale said. This was perhaps a little more modern than his own standards, but still a few decades behind what he knew Crowley favoured.

"'S not that bad, angel," Crowley said, cocking his head to the side. "You like it, though."

Aziraphale took a deep breath and held it for a moment. Honesty. Yes. It was and would be needed for this to work. In the past he might not have allowed himself to be honest about it because he felt he couldn't say such things that might not be in line with Heaven's dictations.

"Yes, I do like it. I think it's lovely."

In his mind's eye he could imagine getting a nice and big comfy couch for Crowley to lounge on and a lovely chair for himself to sit and read in. There was even a fireplace and while neither of them really needed it, Aziraphale had lived through eras with mankind and knew the importance of fire, how it made one feel safe and how it made one feel at home.

Over the years, Crowley had often brought small tokens of— well, something, to Aziraphale when he'd been gone somewhere, eerily good at finding the kind of silly things that the angel would instantly fall in love with.

In his mind's eye he could see them filling the empty spaces. There were porcelain figures from China, they would look marvelous on the mantelpiece. One or two greek vases that, while buried in the depths of the bookshop, Aziraphale knew exactly where were and wouldn't they just look lovely on pedestals, one on either side of the door, just inside the living room? He could remember them as vividly as the day Crowley had given them to him with his usual 'saw this and thought of you' attitude.

Aziraphale could see the corner of a fairly large greenhouse outside the windows as well and focused on it for a moment. "There's a greenhouse as well."

"Is there?" Crowley said nonchalantly, turning to look out the window.

Aziraphale considered mentioning that it would be nice for him to have a hobby as well, now that they were far from the noise and pace of the big city. But he didn't. He felt that as with many other things around Crowley, one shouldn't bring specific things up that might cause the demon some amount of constipation.

No, he'd save it for when Crowley deserved it, when it would be teasing rather than pointing out a, well, not sore spot, but rather something that would be considered rather undemonic.

Aziraphale hoped that Crowley would get to the point where such thoughts would not be at the forefront anymore. However, they had both been 'raised' with ways of thinking and habits that could not be done away with quite as easily as he could wish for. 

It would take time and if they played their cards right, they would have a lot of time to undo the harm that the indoctrination had done to them both. Who knew, eventually Aziraphale might be able to admit that out loud as well.

Eventually he could perhaps tell Crowley how he felt without, at any point, feeling like he should be looking over his shoulder for any Heavenly interference. For now he'd settle for getting to a point where he could even open that conversation.

"How about we have a look at the upstairs rooms, hmm?" he said instead of any of the soft words trapped under his sternum.

"Good idea, angel," Crowley agreed, looking miles more at ease than he had in the past year at any point.


	3. On the courtship rituals of Angels and Demons- AKA Does one buy their demon flowers or a gift voucher to the local Dobbies?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley warns the rabbits to get off his turf, an angel worrying about how to be more obvious with his demon finally thinks 'sod it' as the demon gives him the perfect gift.

Crowley stared up at the house. It still occasionally took him by surprise, this new 'arrangement' of theirs. He looked back down at his own dirty hands with a smile so soft and undemonic he hoped no one would see. It seemed, especially lately, that any and all thoughts that involved their shared home would make him feel this way. The light clenching in his chest, the heat in the pit of his stomach and occasionally, the urge to scratch his neck and scuff the toe of his shoe in the dirt. Any time he would bring something for the angel, like he'd always done in the past, Aziraphale would reward him with a beaming smile and a heartfelt thank you.

Only now, it was things Crowley grew in their garden rather than odd stuff he'd come across on his travels where he'd thought 'this is very Aziraphale, I bet he'll enjoy this.'

So yes, thank whoever that no one was around to see the demon Crowley, Tempter of the Garden of Eden, smiling softly to himself because he'd grown something that an angel could chop up and put in a dish.

The sound of something snuffling through the grass made his head whip around.

"You sssssaw nothing, you heard nothing and you will ceassssse trying to get to my plantsssss," he hissed, watching a young rabbit jump a foot in the air before sprinting off to safety. They were getting braver every day and while Aziraphale swore he didn't feed them, Crowley felt the little critters were far too trusting of the both of them for that to be the full, honest truth.

It had nothing to do, of course, with the fact that any cuttings and discarded bits of veggies were dropped in the compost and that this left it easily accessible to the rabbits. A regular feast.

Speaking of feasts, he'd better have a look at the carrots - the lines of them that he'd rabbit proofed pretty much from day one where he'd been putting down the seeds while a whole line of rabbits had been watching him with their beady little eyes from the sidelines.

Drooling. (8)

8 - While the whole 'rabbits will go crazy over carrots' was a trope that could be blamed on a certain cartoon rabbit, in general, they would nibble on anything green they could reach, including the top bits of the carrots in anyone's vegetable garden - and for anyone not familiar with the UK and the pest that was rabbits, you simply needed to understand that in places rabbits would be considered a pest. Warrens undermined hillsides and gardens and they did, as the saying went, breed like rabbits.

  


Aziraphale had maybe laughed a little at him at this, but had agreed that yes, perhaps it was best if Crowley protected his seedlings from the ravenous horde of rabbits.

Crowley felt his cheeks heat a little. He hadn't gathered empirical evidence, but it seemed to him that the angel laughed more freely and with far more ease since they'd moved out here. It had been a couple of months and they were settling in nicely if anyone asked Crowley.

Not that they didn't have their occasional 'problems'. Sometimes Crowley would despair at how Aziraphale's book clutter would spill into their shared spaces and Aziraphale had, in the beginning, gotten a rather pinched look on his face when Crowley yelled at his plants.

Now that had been a rather interesting conversation that he hoped to never revisit.

It wasn't perfect, not by a long stretch, but they both did what they could to not set the other off. And it helped greatly that they were both aware that the other knew and did their best.

There were other things, though, apart from Crowley's ongoing attempt to woo his angel. Which he still was - he'd just started wooing through growing vegetables that the angel would use for his experiment cooking. (9)

9 - Crowley had, in a fit of boredom, introduced Aziraphale to youtube and while this could have gone down hill rather fast and ended in a dumpster fire of proportions, it hadn't. Aziraphale had a skill of navigating youtube without coming across aforementioned dumpster fires and he would find the most insane cooking channels and marvel at their creativity - and then try to copy their experiments in the cottage kitchen - with a success rate of roughly 50% - which was a steep rise from the beginning where it had been perhaps 10% successful.

  


Crowley looked down at the root vegetables. In truth, the garden should not have been yielding this much produce in such a short time, but the garden, the soil, the plants — they all knew better than to disappoint him and he had a feeling, neither did they want to disappoint the angel. For much different reasons of course. Aziraphale expected aubergines, he got aubergines, he expected pumpkins and squash? The garden, and of course, Crowley, would deliver.

He checked the house to see that Aziraphale wasn't lurking and went over to the bit he'd been working on for a while now. He'd asked Aziraphale not to peek, had warded it in a way that it would not be visible to the angel unless the angel forcefully removed the cover-up.

And so far the angel had played along, even if Crowley could taste his curiosity in the air.

Behind the wards was the perfectly positioned, old fashioned greenhouse that he was working on - connected to the house via a door that was warded as well. His angel did occasionally wander and Crowley wanted to keep it a secret until he was ready to surprise Aziraphale. Part of it was a herbal garden that Crowley had managed to create. He knew that Aziraphale would remember these places, because he'd often spoken of them, when he'd visited monasteries where these had been very common - and Crowley strengthened the wards because the scents that tickled his nose as he entered would be perhaps too much of a giveaway.

While the cottage had come with its own little greenhouse, it had not come close to being what Crowley felt they needed, and what he, truth be told, wanted. Too small, too generic. And it certainly wouldn't have had room for all his plans. So currently he was using it only as a nursery for his seeds and plants that needed to be repotted.

The new greenhouse itself sprouted everything in greens, reds, yellow, orange and blue hues. It was maybe not a masterpiece equalling the nebulae that Crowley had helped create way back when. But it would be a small private garden for them. Although small might be the wrong way of putting it. It was much bigger on the inside, equalling the Victorian greenhouses of botanical gardens in the cities.

This was just another step in his long winded road of wooing the angel, Crowley was aware of this, and he owned up to it, at least to himself. Now if only Aziraphale would show any signs of being receptive to any possible advances Crowley might make, Crowley would be over the top with joy. Or at least with as much joy as he could get away with while still maintaining his demonic presence. (10)

10 - At this point most readers would perhaps say that this was a ship long since sailed or a train long since having left the train station - even horses and stables came to mind.

  


* * *

Had Crowley paid more attention to the angel and what he did with his free time, he might've noticed that he wasn't the only one trying to woo someone.

* * *

Aziraphale sat back in his wingback chair in the living room. Things were good, if he was being honest. And Aziraphale always tried to be honest with himself. (11.)

11 - At least he'd tried to be since the world had failed to end and he had faced the facts: that he really should not be making excuses for the poor behaviour of archangels - he would never make an attempt at excusing poor manners from demons, that would be rather silly. At least his own demon had impeccable manners when he felt like showing them - or his manners were mostly impeccable when he was around Aziraphale. There was no guessing what he was like when he was on his own.

  


Crowley was doing things in the garden - secret things. Aziraphale had known him for long enough that his behaviour screamed of it. Normally he'd tease him and ask him if he was planning sins that Aziraphale ought to thwart. But something had held him back. A brittleness, though even that wasn't quite the right term to use. It itched in Aziraphale to unravel the wards that Crowley had set up, that hid whatever it was he was working on from Aziraphale's eyes. He could slip into his celestial form, the wards would not stand against his many eyes that could see through the veil of things.

But to do so would be cheating.

Crowley was working hard on something that he didn't want Aziraphale to see. Now, in the past, perhaps, a very long time ago, being hereditary enemies would mean to worry about whatever it was that Crowley was planning, but quite honestly, as much as he'd argued with Crowley about not trusting a demon, he had, deep down, always done so.

Or at least trusted Crowley.

Whatever it was he was working on, there was no malice behind it - if anything there was a quiet, unrelenting humming of excitement and - joy might not be the right word to use, but some kind of excitement that was deeply rooted in something that tasted almost like love.

One way or another, with Crowley's tinkering outside, Aziraphale had a lot of time on his hands, alone. Which he'd been used to, but knowing that Crowley was close enough to be called upon, spoken to, warmed his heart to no end. It made his entire chest rise and expand as if he was going to burst from it.

Aziraphale looked down at the book he was currently reading. Or at least attempting to read. A fairly new translation of Beowulf; interesting, but by no means completely correct in the translation. It was both fascinating as well as a little heart wrenching to see humans gain and lose languages like this.

Closing it, he stared down at the cover. Just a simple, greyish, brown cloth bound book. Inconspicuous in the way it looked, but ever so interesting on the inside.

Aziraphale lifted his head and stared out the window. Were it that he could say the same about himself. He was as unassuming as any book, and while perfectly readable on the inside, far from being all that interesting or flashy on the cover. (12)

12 - Crowley would of course beg to differ. Even if he would sometimes comment on Aziraphale's drab colour choice in clothing, to him there was nothing boring or unassuming about his angel.

  


Of course Crowley didn't seem to mind. He'd stuck around for six thousand years by now and Aziraphale was fairly sure he'd stick around for a few more. Unless Aziraphale went and did something stupid.

Now the question was just how stupid it would have to be to drive Crowley away. On a scale from one to ten, one being serving Crowley liver (which the demon hated with a passion) while ten would be grabbing him in the middle of their living room and kissing him (and said kissing leading to more energetic activities), Aziraphale had a little wiggle room.

Unfortunately, it seemed Crowley was blind to Aziraphale's flirting. Granted, Aziraphale was not the most skilled in this art, but it all seemed to fall flat when he aimed it at a certain demon. Perhaps he simply wasn't being as obvious as he thought he was? It was true, that through the years they had fallen into a habit of bantering and a familiarity that would perhaps make it hard to tell what was mere habit and what was, in actuality, flirting.(13)

13 - In reality, Crowley saw the usual level of bastardry sarcasm and wit that he was used to and quite frankly loved. Had the demon perceived this behaviour as flirting, there would have been kissing centuries earlier. Also, Crowley was as much of an oblivious idiot as the angel was.

  


Aziraphale wondered if perhaps he should start researching how humans did their courtship. And he was aware that it would have to be something a little more modern than resorting to odes of love that were more than a century old. But as he saw it, It seemed humans were among other things, very good at giving each other gifts, big and small. For a moment he even considered a gift card (infinite) to the local Dobbies Garden Centre, but felt perhaps this might be a little dull for a celestial being such as himself. (14)

14 - Before someone might ask about the gifts - yes, the angel was indeed a little on the dense side. Crowley had, much like many types of birds, been bringing Aziraphale things over the years to 'pad his nest with'. The angel was unfortunately not paying enough attention to this fact or aforementioned kissing might indeed have happened millennia earlier.

  


Thoughts returned to Crowley and whatever it might be he was getting up to in the garden. Aziraphale knew it had to be of a certain size because while he couldn't see what was behind the wards, he could make out the rough size it took up on the side of the building. His curiosity was rattling its chains, but Crowley would share with him when the time was right. 

For now he would accept that there was something large out there that Crowley was hiding from him. It looked as if there was nothing there, he could see the rolling hillside on the other side, but being what he was, Aziraphale could 'see' the shape of whatever was under there, but not what was inside the shape itself.

What really mattered was that the demon was keeping busy and Aziraphale marveled at the fact that Crowley's attention wasn't on some low, malicious thing, but rather something, if one dared use the word about Crowley, domestic. It felt like that, like it would be something to add to their little cottage.

Getting up from his seat, Aziraphale went into their kitchen. He loved making use of whatever Crowley brought him. While Crowley wasn't big on eating, Aziraphale had begun noticing that some things could tempt the other into eating - never huge portions, but since Aziraphale had started cooking, especially with produce delivered from Crowley's garden, he'd been thrilled to see that Crowley would sample most things, save a few things that had ingredients that Aziraphale hadn't been aware Crowley absolutely hated. (15.)

15 - Cabbage made him gassy. Why the demon insisted on growing them would forever be a mystery that Aziraphel had no intention of diving into. Strawberries made his mouth itchy and made him break out in hives, apparently, and Aziraphale felt this was a punch to the gut of fairness. Seriously, lovely strawberries, fresh strawberries, and Crowley would refuse to eat them. Yes, well, it did leave more strawberries for Aziraphale, but still, he'd prefer if they could share everything.

  


Now, since Crowley was working so hard on something that he was most certainly inclined to keep secret for the moment, perhaps Aziraphale should cook something nice for him. The demon was quite fond of seafood, as it had turned out. And he had yet to turn down the offering of especially king prawns in any dish.

Aziraphale hummed and opened the fridge, looking for the perfect ingredients. He had seen a youtube video a few days earlier and wanted to see if he could perhaps recreate it. As a small thank you to Crowley for doing whatever it was he was doing out in the garden.

Yes, good behaviour should be rewarded.

* * *

A few days later, Crowley had asked Aziraphale to come to the small room next to their living room that had once upon a time probably been a small dining room. Aziraphale hadn't paid it much attention and at some point Crowley had muttered about using it for his seedlings that didn't need the level of light that the rest of his horde did, currently making the back entrance look like a small jungle. And Aziraphale had agreed readily enough. The door to that room had been closed since.

The cottage was more than big enough, but Aziraphale had slowly made one of the rooms upstairs more spacious than before - it now had an entire library in a room that wasn't much bigger than a broom closet in the original plans of the house. However, when Aziraphale had uttered a strong wish for a little more space in there, the house had been most accommodating. His own room of course, looked like it had half of the books in there anyway. But the core of his collection, the books he couldn't have parted with out of sentimental reasons, had a lovely, spacious area with floor to ceiling shelves. In two levels. Plus a reading nook with soft cushions and a small table for him to set his tea or cocoa down on.

The house had truly been _most_ accommodating.

Aziraphale knocked on the door to Crowley's domain, but there was no reply. To make sure Crowley had heard him, Aziraphale knocked again. And still there was no answer. Frowning, Aziraphale tried the handle of the door and it swung open easily enough.

Opening his mouth to call for Crowley, Aziraphale felt the name die on his lips. Hot and humid air hit his face, smells that he wasn't sure he'd feasted his senses on since the Garden had saturated his olfactory sense.

Closing his mouth again, Aziraphale swallowed hard, staring at the absolutely magnificent sight before him.

Large glass panes formed the walls, curving gently into the prism of a dome above his head. Like the kind of building that had been standard for the large botanical gardens from the Victorian period. This one had more glass because it had obviously not been built during Queen Victoria's reign, and very obviously neither had it been created using manual labour. Anything an angel or a demon used a miracle to create had a certain 'feel' to it. A sort of fingerprint. Leaving no doubt as to whether it had come from an 'above' or 'below' denizen.

But this… this had been created and put together with something else. Yes, he recognised Crowley's brand of miracle, the scent, the shimmer in the air that would be invisible to the human eye. But it was weaved together with the utmost fantastic feeling of unconditional love and hard, physical labour.

Aziraphale's breath stuttered in his chest, rasped over his lips and he pressed a hand to his chest. All around him were sounds and scents that he hadn't fully experienced for nearly six millennia. The sound of a small stream of water running by somewhere close, the scent of wet soil and greenery.

The greenhouse was lined with everything green. Palms and ferns grew like their lives depended on it (16). The air was rich with oxygen and life.

The centre piece was a work of art, though. On a small raised bed of the greenest grass stood a beautiful apple tree. The trunk was full and strong, sturdy and beautiful. Its apples looked like they could put most other apples to shame and in comparison no other apple would ever be called 'apple red'.

16 - In this case their lives truly had depended on their growth. Crowley might have suffused the place with his love for one specific angel, but he knew what worked and tough love just had a very different meaning when one demon bullied his plants into reaching for the domed ceiling. However, what Crowley was aware of was that his yelling had only gotten the plants so far - the rest had come from the feeling of love he had for Aziraphale that the plants had caught on to.

  


Staggering forward, Aziraphale stared at the tree like it was the only piece of dry land and he was a drowning man. Before he could touch it, Crowley slid around the trunk that had, technically, not been broad enough to hide him, but what was another little demonic miracle among friends?

Crowley looked a little jittery, but he held out a hand.

Aziraphale stared in confusion at it. At the thing in his hand.

An apple. Crowley was…

"I know it's a little-" 

Aziraphale didn't let him continue. He grabbed the hand proffered and pulled Crowley in close.

How was this ridiculous creature even possible? How could Aziraphale keep trying to do things the 'right' way when Crowley insisted on being irresistible, a rascal, a… a…

"Crowley." It was all he could say. All other words flew away like a flock of birds spooked by an intruder. Completely lost for words, Aziraphale sought those beloved features one last time and decided to hell with doing things the 'right' way, whatever the 'right' way may be. To hell with taking things slow. They had been for so many years.

And if anyone asked, to Aziraphale, Crowley had just taken the first step into the unknown. The step Aziraphale had been too afraid to take, too afraid to rock the boat, as the humans would say.

Too afraid to change the status quo.

Well, if Crowley could take the first step, then Aziraphale could darned well take the second, third and possibly the fourth. Maybe even the fifth. (17)

17 - While Crowley had most certainly been wooing Aziraphale and the greenhouse was most certainly part of aforementioned wooing, he had not, in truth, been trying to take what Aziraphale was referring to as 'The First Step'. He'd really just wanted to give his angel something nice, a memory, or a mirror of a memory of the first place they had met.

  


Then he kissed him.

Aziraphale's mind took a moment or two to kick into gear, but by the time he realised Crowley had frozen in place when he'd grabbed him, pulled him forward and _kissed him_ , Crowley was nearly melting into him, his legs buckling under him and an embarrassing whooshing sound filled the silence as his large black wings manifested into this plane of existence.

"Oh goodness," Aziraphale muttered against Crowley's lips. He eyed the arched black wings out the corner of his eye. Then he was pulled forward by Crowley's weight and they stumbled onto the raised bed where the tree was, Crowley landing on his back, wings spread out with the tips brushing the ferns. A soft 'ooph' escaped him as Aziraphale landed right on top of him.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale would have said if Crowley hadn't buried his fingers in his hair and held him in place, lips parting under Aziraphale's, and a very non-human tongue slipping into his mouth.

Aziraphale might've thought about how interesting _that_ was, if he hadn't been so focused on kissing Crowley back. This was not what he'd expected at all, but now that he'd been given it, he would defend it tooth and nail.

Mirroring Crowley's hold in his hair, Aziraphale finally did what he'd thought about many times before, and tightened his grip on Crowley's short, soft hair. The subsequent arching of Crowley's body as well as the absolutely obscene moan reverberating inside his mouth was a bit of an eye opener.

And something that Aziraphale made a mental note of investigating _thoroughly_ later.

The kiss was magnificent, and for a moment, Aziraphale fought with the urge to keep doing this, especially as Crowley's hands had migrated from his hair to his shoulders and then to his hips, and the long, strong fingers were kneading flesh wherever they could get ahold of it. And Aziraphale knew that he wasn't skinny, which meant much to his enjoyment, Crowley had a lot of spots to squeeze. And he really didn't want to stop, but he also wanted to see Crowley's face, wanted to see his eyes, his lips (kiss bruised, they would be, red and lovely). Eventually, after much moaning (from the both of them) Aziraphale broke the kiss, reveling in the unfamiliar feel of tenderness of his lips and the dampness.

He let go of Crowley's hair and braced himself on his forearms, raising just enough above Crowley to look down at him, watching him pant, shades lost somewhere, eyes vibrant and un-human but _oh_ , the loveliest sight ever, because as humans would put it, eyes truly were a window to the soul. And Crowley's currently had no curtains, frankly, they probably had no glass pane either. Everything was on display and Aziraphale wanted to thank him for it, thank him for the naked look of utter surprise mixed with adoration and no little amount of want.

"Hello, dearest," he said when he realised that Crowley was in no state to say anything. He was just lying there, staring up at Aziraphale in wonder like he couldn't quite convince himself that what he was seeing was what he was seeing.

Aziraphale didn't blame him for that. Couldn't. He could barely understand and believe it himself. For a moment, overcome by his love for this being and because of what Crowley had been tinkering with out here, the whole situation with the apple… it really was quite overwhelming.

The apple. Aziraphale saw it lying next to Crowley, it had rolled down to rest against one curve of his wing. Perhaps it was time to even things up a little. Aziraphale took a deep breath and between one heart beat and the next, his white wings unfolded above him, his well-worn clothes disappeared and in their stead was the white, long kaftan that he'd worn that day on the wall. Wings, garden and a callback to what he’d looked like.

Aziraphale took the apple, aware of Crowley watching his every move with the utmost attention while apparently struck with muteness. His lovely mouth, kiss bruised as Aziraphale had expected, was slightly parted as if the dear had trouble breathing - as if he needed it. Aziraphale knew exactly how he felt at that moment, because it was coursing through him as well.

"What is this?" he asked. No accusation in his voice, just a teasing lilt.

"A-an offering?

Holding Crowley's gaze, Aziraphale took a bite of the apple, marvelling at the burst of sweetness, the crisp skin as his teeth sunk into the most decadent taste ever. And Aziraphale had always been a hedonist, he'd long since given up on denying this. So he savored the taste, moaned deep in his throat and watched Crowley, felt the shiver running through the body under his.

Chewing on his bite with great joy, Aziraphale held the apple to Crowley's lips and while Crowley's mouth closed around it he brushed the tips of his own wings against Crowley's. He really didn't take them out often enough. It felt so freeing and the touch of their wings caused the most exquisite jolt of pleasure to run through him.

Under him, Crowley froze, let out a deep moan and shook against him, fingers digging into Aziraphale's sides with almost bruising strength. And Aziraphale did consider leaving the bruises there for a while, because this was new, this was exciting and this was the most perfect thing ever. His blood felt like it was running hotter than usual through his corporation, by far not an unpleasant sensation.

Crowley closed his eyes and tried to hide his beet red face against Aziraphale's neck. He mumbled something and it took Aziraphale a moment to decipher his words.

"Whatever are you apologizing for?" Aziraphale asked, then realised what Crowley had meant. Something soft squeezed his corporation's heart. "Oh dear, if I'd known we were making that kind of effort, I would have joined you."

This was new, this teasing. The fact that he could, the fact that he was able to, the fact that Crowley's flushed face felt like a hot water bottle against the side of his neck.

"You were just supposed to laugh at the moment, at the apple, not turn it into some obscene reverse temptation," Crowley muttered against his neck, voice still thick with embarrassment.

Aziraphale held up the apple, looked at it. It really was perfect, with each little imperfection to the skin. They were there because such was the nature of, well, nature. But each little variation to colour and texture was perfect in itself. Aziraphale liked to think so at least.

"Please, do not sell yourself short, my dear," Aziraphale said before taking another bite of the apple and savoring the taste and texture. "What you have done out here was not done on a whim, it was not done for a joke. It looks to me…" Aziraphale trailed off.

Had he been that blind and caught up in trying to figure out how to show his love and affection to Crowley that he'd missed the demon attempting much the same? On such a larger scale as well?

Aziraphale let his wings dip down to fully cover Crowley's, feeling the shiver run through them and hearing as well as feeling the hitch in Crowley's breathing.

Could it really be that they had been behaving like a couple of distracted birds? Perhaps two different species attempting to court. (18)

18 - Had these two idiots indeed been birds, and of the same kind, then they would have gone extinct simply because they had been too stupid to see what the other was doing.

  


The air shimmered as Crowley, face still buried against Aziraphale's neck, ignited a small demonic miracle with an outcome that nearly made Aziraphale cry. His hair grew longer, his clothes loosened and became a carbon copy of what he'd been wearing when he'd first appeared at Aziraphale's side on the wall of the Garden of Eden.

"Full circle," Aziraphale murmured for a moment. They were again in a garden, and again Crowley had gone and done something that had opened a door for them. Back then he'd spoken to an angel who would have been more likely to smite him than answer him and now he was offering so much more. A different future.

Had possibly been since he'd offered the deed to the cottage to Aziraphale and asked if perhaps they could try it.

"You gave me a nest," Aziraphale mumbled, pressing his lips lovingly (if a bit sticky with apple juice) against Crowley's temple. "You gave me so much, but you gave me a nest and I don't know if you realise that I have been taking each and every gift from you so far, safekeeping them in order to add them to our nest. Our home."

Crowley made a strangled noise and still refused to lift his head.

It had never crossed his mind. The idiot that he was, Aziraphale had just accepted every little gesture and trinket from Crowley. Good thing he did love Crowley, because otherwise this would have ended quite awkwardly with him apologizing for stringing his friend along. (19)

19 - It would indeed have been an awkward thing to disentangle. Aziraphale would have had to explain that he'd accepted each and every gift from Crowley simply because he'd enjoyed them and he'd thought the demon was just being nice. That would have literally gone down like a lead balloon.

  


Aziraphale smiled to himself. He'd obviously embarrassed the poor dear. Which he fully understood. But it was also rather endearing if one were to ask him. He'd always seen Crowley as cool and suave, but he'd also known and recognised the demon's softer side. And right now there was nothing of the swagger and cool distance evident in him.

"Crowley, please look me in the eyes?"

It was a request, as soft as Aziraphale could make it. And for the longest time there was no response.

* * *

Crowley tried to catch his breath. How the hell had this gotten out of hand so fast? How had this gone from 'make something nice they could both enjoy and something that would most certainly make Aziraphale happy' to them both under the bloody apple tree he'd added as a last minute idea. (20) And to Aziraphale kissing him, to the angel pressing him into the ground and kissing him, unfolding his wings and all but ravishing Crowley right there in a rather unangelic fashion.

20 - The apple tree had been in there for a long time, an abstract idea that would not go away but that Crowley had ignored until the very last minute when he'd added it to the whole thing rather than bringing some damned statue into the middle. The statue options had been either the lectern that he'd liberated from a bombed out church in 1941 or the angel/demon 'wrestling' one from his flat. He'd felt at that point that the wrestling one might be a little too much on the mark for his wishful thinking, though if one took into account Crowley's (demon) current position under Aziraphale (angel), then perhaps it was more of a premonition or foreboding. He had to wonder for a stray second if Agnes ever foresaw any of this.

  


He'd utterly broken Crowley's ability to react and Crowley could find no ounce of will to wish for it not to have happened. Save perhaps a small niggling annoyance that he'd really wanted Aziraphale to marvel at his creation. There'd be time for that later (21).

21\. He'd wanted Aziraphale to marvel at what he'd made. Tell him it was beautiful. That he loved it. And preferably it would have come out in soft little noises of appreciation. That was how he'd imagined it.

  


It took a herculean effort for him to lift his head, turn it enough to meet Aziraphale's eyes. He promised himself to not second guess what he'd be seeing or even expect to be seeing. This was what he'd been dreaming about all along wasn't it? Only, being the idiot he'd occasionally own up to being, he knew he'd only nebulously planned beyond a possible kiss and said _kiss_ had come a lot earlier than he'd ever dared imagine. (22)

22 - If he'd actually dared imagining it at all save for the darkest hours of the night, when everything was quiet and no other thoughts were knocking. At that point he would take the shackles of that dream and study it for a little bit before carefully re-wrapping it and putting it out of sight.

  


Crowley envisioned that the first words out of his mouth after this would be something along the lines of 'hello, angel,' or 'I love you' if he was being particularly sappy.

"Ngk," was the only thing that made it across his lips and he felt rather cross with himself and his inability to string a bloody sentence together that would at least make a modicum of sense.

Aziraphale's brow drew together and Crowley knew that of all the things his runaway mouth could have unleashed on the unsuspecting world (and the angel currently pinning him to the ground under an apple tree) a wordless nonsense noise had perhaps not been the best.

_I'm at your mercy angel, please say you will stay with me forever._

Now, see, that would have been romantic. Very much so. And it was on the tip of his tongue. Unfortunately, sometimes Crowley's demonic tongue had ideas of its own, it seemed.

"Fuck's sake, angel, I've been bending over backwards for centuries to give you everything your heart might desire, rare books, delicious food, fine clothes and several of those damned snuff boxes."

Aziraphale's gaze softened and his soft body relaxed on top of Crowley, although he made no move to get off him.

"My heart's desire?" he asked softly, not breaking eye contact with Crowley. "I have always loved your gifts, my friend, and I am sorry I did not see it for what it was - I was too caught up in, well, not getting caught." He gave Crowley an apologetic look. "You know I always worried about what might happen to you if we were caught. Now that it's no longer a secret I find I should have seen what you were doing rather than being too focused on how I could 'catch your eye' so to speak."

Crowley swallowed hard.

"And you mention my heart's desire, my dear. All the worldly riches pale in comparison to what I truly want," Aziraphale said, lips brushing against Crowley's.

Fighting a blush that felt like hellfire, Crowley cleared his throat and managed to ask in a fairly even voice. "And what would that be, angel?"

"Why, I would think that by now it would be rather obvious," Aziraphale replied and this time he actually had a flush of colour to his cheeks.

"Humour me," Crowley asked, feeling more in control. It shouldn't have been overly comfortable like this, on the ground with Aziraphale on top of him, but Crowley would not consider it might be uncomfortable, so his corporation was perfectly comfortable. (23)

23 - Save the unfortunate stickiness in his trousers and that was quickly rid of when he realised that even his level of imagination could not make him ignore it.

  


"You, by my side, here, in London, on the moon, Alpha Centauri. The stage doesn't matter, it is all about the players." The words were spoken low, but with such conviction that Aziraphale might as well have shouted them from a mountain top, or climbed upon Gabriel's desk in Heaven and used a megaphone to announce to all the world (and Heaven's middle management) that he was hanging up his halo and spending the rest of eternity in sin with a demon.

It was what Crowley heard and it drove through his chest like a spear of truth. And those words were what he had held in his heart all along as well. He'd go anywhere that Aziraphale wanted to go, it wouldn't matter whether or not they had access to the most fancy restaurants or newest plays. That was all just icing on the cake. The whole base was solely Aziraphale and him never parting again.

Crowley swallowed around a lump. This was it, this was what he'd wanted all along since he'd watched the first ray of sunshine bounce off pale blonde curls.

It seemed he'd taken a little too long to answer because Aziraphale's "I hope I haven't misread anything," was so quietly spoken that he could have almost missed it. For a moment, the self-assured angel who had borne him to the ground and all but ravaged him (24) was gone and Crowley wanted him back. He loved the soft spoken Aziraphale, when he would blush at nothing and beam at everything but the take-charge side of him that Crowley was now witnessing was blowing his mind.

24 - Crowley would swear by the deepest pit in Hell that he was not a romantic, but Crowley had been the one to incite the common bookpress and in its wake he had done what he could to push the publication of purple prose and the popularity of romance novels.

  


"Is that all?" Crowley asked, voice breaking a little. "You just want me, nothing more? You sure you don't want to throw a first edition Wilde in there and a sushi dinner?"

Aziraphale huffed and gave him a holier-than-thou look that cracked almost immediately. "I have plenty of Wilde first editions, my dear."

"That's not a no on the sushi dinner," Crowley added, feeling like he could breathe again.

"Well, sushi _is after all _sushi_ , dearest," he replied primly. Then he chuckled and his gaze went so soft that Crowley felt like he was being wrapped up in the softest of blankets._

_"I can do that, angel. Eternity and the occasional sushi dinner."_

_A startled laugh escaped Aziraphale who was now looking at Crowley as if he was one of Her most magnificent miracles._

_Crowley felt out of sorts and had to divert attention from the seriousness without derailing from the fact that for all intents and purposes, Aziraphale had asked him to spend the rest of their lives together._

_"For the record, you caught my eye in the Garden, you idiot," he grumbled. "You were hard to miss. Beautiful and welcoming, all softness over steel. You, angel, caught my eye from the very first moment I saw you."_

_Aziraphale drew in a quick breath, eyes widening with surprise. Then he chuckled and put his head down on Crowley's shoulder. He aligned his wings with Crowley's again and it sent another jolt through the demon. It really was very intimate, but he wanted to ask Aziraphale to do it again and again, because he'd be damned (or more damned even) if he ever wanted it to stop._

_"Is that why you created your own little Garden of Eden out here?"_

_"No," Crowley said, grinning as Aziraphale lifted his head and stared at him in surprise. "It's why I created _our_ own Garden of Eden out here," he corrected._

_As the words left his mouth, Crowley realised just how bloody sappy he was sounding. However, the look of pure, undiluted joy in Aziraphale's eyes was well worth the utter undemonic behaviour of his. Of course, Crowley was still learning that since he wasn't working for Hell anymore, he could quite aptly say 'to hell with not behaving demonic enough'._

_Searching Aziraphale's eye, he could admit to himself that neither of them had strictly speaking been behaving how their previous sides had defined angels and demons. Aziraphale was a hedonist, failed often enough to look at the bigger picture as he would submerge himself in something perfectly human and perfectly un-angelic like eating or enjoying a play or going all tingly because a first edition or a misprinted bible was within his reach._

_"Well," Aziraphale said with a soft huff. "I must say you've outdone yourself this time, my dear."_

_Crowley felt heat flushing his face. "Better than misprinted bibles?" he teased, trying to cover up his jittery nerves and just how pleased he was that Aziraphale was pleased with his offerings._

_"Not even in the same, how do humans put it, playground?"_

_"Ball park, angel, ball park," Crowley said, not even bothered by the softness in his own voice at this point._

_"Ah, yes," Aziraphale agreed. And there was a flash of something that wasn't quite right. Like something self-satisfied._

_Crowley let his head fall back and groaned. "How often do you do this on purpose, angel?"_

_"Do what on purpose, dear?" Aziraphale asked, doing everything he obviously could to sound like the angel he was supposed to be._

_They were quiet for a moment and Crowley refused to give him the satisfaction of explaining what he'd meant when the angel obviously was perfectly aware of it._

_Aziraphale pursed his lips and Crowley swallowed hard. Really, such small things would be his death - even more so now that he knew what Aziraphale tasted like._

_"Occasionally?" Aziraphale hedged, an almost apologetic look on his face._

_"Yeah, never quite did believe that you didn't know the saying was 'kick butt'," Crowley said drily._

_"But you do so love it when I get it wrong and you can be brilliant and correct me, darling."_

_Crowley opened his mouth to argue, then shut it hard enough to nearly bite his tongue. Aziraphale wasn't wrong. Whenever he needed to correct Aziraphale in something it always made him feel a certain level of softness and appreciation, a little serotonin jolt._

_Aziraphale gave him a triumphant grin and before Crowley could argue any more with him, his mouth was busy doing much better things, much more important things._


	4. Domestic blessed bliss AKA Crowley is a hopeless romantic but Aziraphale wouldn't want it any other way.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which crepes are delayed and one demon shows his softer side much to the appreciation of his angel.

Aziraphale would have thought that things would change now that they had finally opened up to each other, but it really hadn't. Their nights now most often ended with the both of them in bed before midnight, but now it was the _same_ bed, which was a very good thing, their life felt so right and so familiar.

Now, Aziraphale had never been one to sleep much, granted, but it had mostly been because he felt that hours spent in bed would be wasted when he could do research on whatever caught his attention and read instead. Or plot new recipes to test.

After he and Crowley opened the new chapter of their life, he had to admit that time spent in bed was most certainly never wasted.

Yes, there were now couplings of a more carnal type, but while he quite enjoyed those as well, being the hedonist that he was, he found that lying in bed while Crowley was deep in sleep, a book within reach, a cup of hot cocoa or tea, made it all even better. Especially when Crowley would naturally search out his body heat when asleep, curling up against him, and on one memorable account, around him. The whole wake-up-as-snake had been a bit embarrassing for Crowley, but Aziraphale truly didn't feel like Crowley had anything to be embarrassed about. Aziraphale felt it was a sign that he felt safe around him and that, more than anything, was a lovely thing.

It may have been rather inconvenient to nap, wake up to read for a bit, only to find that his arms had been pinned to his sides by one, deeply asleep serpent. However, it had been bloody marvelous too and Aziraphale wanted to see if he could get Crowley to do so on purpose at some point. While he was aware that Crowley had never been particularly fond of shapeshifting with the risk of not being able to remember how to get back, he felt that the demon might eventually feel safe enough in Aziraphale's company to do so. And that would be the greatest compliment Crowley could pay him.

"Angel, have you seen-?" Crowley's voice died and Aziraphale turned around to see what had interrupted him.

He found Crowley standing in the door to the kitchen, shades pushed to the top of his head, one of the arms of said shades tangled in his significantly longer hair.

"What _are_ you doing and what the hell is that you're wearing?" Crowley sputtered.

Aziraphale looked down his front and scrunched up his nose. "I should think that would be quite obvious what it is I am wearing, considering what I'm _doing._ ”

What Aziraphale was wearing — which had apparently insulted Crowley's fashion sense — was an apron with the words "kiss the cook" printed on the front. And what he was doing, he felt was rather obvious which made Crowley's question a rhetorical one.

"No, seriously, angel, walk me through why you're wearing that and the kitchen looks like you've dropped a ten ton bag of flour in here."

Aziraphale huffed and his insulted air may have worked better if not for a small puff of flour dust rising in its wake. He may have had a minor mishap with the flour, but there was really no reason for Crowley to comment on it quite like that.

"You're normally such a tidy cook," Crowley said, giving the mess the kind of look he reserved for the piles of books that sometimes migrated from Aziraphale's library into their living room. He didn't mind a book or two, but even Aziraphale would agree that perhaps his small leaning towers next to the couch could be a little too much.

Aziraphale allowed himself a small smile and snapped his fingers and the flour disappeared from the surfaces of the kitchen.

Crowley came over to his side and leaned in, kissing the tip of his nose.

Aziraphale scrunched up his nose. "What was that for..."

"Many things," Crowley said with a chuckle. "You had a bit of flour you'd missed there, you're boldly asking to be kissed as you are the cook, and last, but not least, you look ridiculous."

"Is that really all?" Aziraphale asked, trying to sound put out, though he was aware he probably didn't manage particularly well. He knew very well that he tended to come across as doting when he tried to be stern with Crowley.

Crowley leaned in and put his hands on Aziraphale's hips, his face so close to Aziraphal's that he felt like he was going to go cross eyed.

"Well, I'm also stupidly in love with you, if that helps," Crowley said wryly, before kissing Aziraphale on the mouth. Tilting his head a little, Crowley deepened the kiss and Aziraphale gave up his pancakes as a lost cause (for now) and opened up to the kiss like he was a flower feeling the first rays of the morning sun.

Crowley broke the kiss and nuzzled his way along Aziraphale's jaw until his mouth was right by Aziraphale's ear. "I'll make you crepes later, angel."

Aziraphale let his head fall to the side, giving Crowley more room. The demon really was terribly skilled with that tongue.

"I…" He sighed when Crowley pressed a soft kiss right under his earlobe. "I wasn't aware of you ever cooking." Goodness, it took some self control to keep a conversation going and Aziraphale suspected that this was exactly why Crowley was doing this.

"I can follow a recipe, you know," Crowley complained, like Aziraphale had accused him of the utmost treason.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. He bit his tongue before he could say 'yes, a recipe for disaster'. They'd see just how messy the kitchen would be when Crowley was done. It wasn't the first time Crowley had set his heart on doing something that had turned out messy. (25)

25 - While the scarf Crowley had knitted looked like someone had tortured a soul and given it physical form, Aziraphale wore it on many a windy occasion. This both made Crowley realise just how deeply he'd fallen in love as well as make him cringe, because really, he wished Aziraphale wouldn't wear it in public.

  


"And don't think I'm not aware of you rolling your eyes, you bastard."

Aziraphale hid a laugh in a quick cough, but he could feel Crowley's mouth curve into a smile where it was pressed against his neck.

"Yes, dear," Aziraphale replied, holding tightly onto the one being in the world that understood him, that would always be there for him and that he would tear Heaven and Hell apart for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is to the liking of my recipient and anyone else who might've stumbled upon this story ;) - I feel we all need some sweetness and fluff in our lives at the moment.


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